


La storia mia è breve

by hurricaneredd



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Basically everyone tries to make sure Hamid has a good day, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricaneredd/pseuds/hurricaneredd
Summary: The L.O.L.O.M.G. finally have a day off, and everyone tries to make sure Hamid has a good day.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Azu, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Oscar Wilde, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Zolf Smith, The London and Other London Outstanding Mercenary Group | LOLOMG & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	La storia mia è breve

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this little piece, "La storia mia è breve" comes from the opera, La Bohème.
> 
> This piece is, as with most things, thanks to the wonderful Rogers who constantly give me inspiration for new crimes and new works, so shout out to all of the lovelies who're responsible for this!

It's rare when they catch a break—a day off here, maybe a few hours of not running for their lives there—so when they come around, the London and Other London Outstanding Mercenary Group (because Zolf absolutely refuses to call it LOLOMG) takes advantage of it to the fullest.

Sometimes that just means blowing off steam, sometimes with a good meal and nice conversations.

On very rare occasions, one of them opens up.

This time, it's incredibly bittersweet. This time their break aligns perfectly with Aziza's birthday, and while Zolf, Azu, and Cel never had the chance to meet her, they know how important she was—is—was to Hamid, so they try their best to make it easier on their halfling sorcerer.

Zolf goes into a frenzy with preparing food that he knows Hamid loves. He may go a bit overboard with it, but he knows Wilde's not going to say anything. Not when this is for Hamid.

Azu tries her best to keep Hamid cheerful. She has him telling her stories of what it was like when they were younger—carefully steering the conversation to lighter times when things get a little too somber for Hamid. An innocent question here, a little interjection there to keep him from going to a dark place. It's easy now; she knows him too well and knows just what to say. And when words don't always work, she knows that a nice, solid hug will do the trick.

(There are a few of those throughout the day, and no one dares to mention it or say a word. They've all needed that reassurance. They know what it's like.)

Dinner rolls around, and things are great. Zolf, as usual, outdoes himself when he has a reason to cook for others. There's so much that no one's quite sure how he managed to get all of it, but Azu notices the look that passes between both Zolf and Wilde when it's brought up. She's not going to question it, but she'll thank both of them later.

It's after dinner that the magic really happens, though.

Cel had been suspiciously absent for most of the day, and while they heard the sounds of their tinkering, no one dared to go and see what they were up to, lest they get dragged into some kind of explosion. They'd learned it's much safer for all of them to just let Cel do their thing, only checking in occasionally to make sure they hadn't accidentally blown themself up or created something a little too dangerous.

But now, after hours and hours of work, Cel bounces excitedly on their toes, shifting back and forth as their face practically splits from how wide they're grinning. They don't even think twice about grabbing Hamid's little hands in theirs, an excited "Follow me, little buddy!" all but bursting from their lips as they take him out to their makeshift shed.

Zolf and Azu share a look and glance back towards Wilde, Zolf with furrowed brows and Azu with a questioning glance. He simply nods and motions for them to follow the other two, so they do, neither one of them noticing the way he slips from the room and heads towards where their living quarters are.

Once they're all gathered in front of the shed, Cel all but throws the door wide open and, with a flourish, gestures Hamid inside.

"Just a little bit further!" they say excitedly as they all but drag Hamid with them, his tiny halfling legs not able to keep up with an excitable Cel. Zolf and Azu hurry after the two, and they all stop dead in their tracks the moment they're in front of the table.

"Uh, Cel," Hamid hedges, "what—what is that exactly?"

Sitting before them is a strange device. If any of them had to hazard a guess, they'd say it was some sort of take on Edison's phonograph, but that still doesn't quite look right. The elbow shouldn't be placed there, and the crank doesn't look at all like it'd work for its intended purpose. And the horn—

"Well, you see, I got this idea—and Wilde helped with it, too!—but I got this idea. You know how you said Aziza used to sing, right? And that you had recordings of her? But you didn't play them often because you're always afraid of damaging and warping them to the point where they're no longer recognizable? Well, I thought, what if—y'know, what if there's a way around that? Like, with alchemy and magic and everything? That's where Wilde came in, by the way. Did you know he's really good with illusions and magic that's not, like, my science-y kind of magic?"

As Cel rambles on, it dawns on the three of them what's going on, and Hamid—choked up at the thought alone—tackles their legs and gives them the biggest hug. He has no words, not right now at least, because if he speaks—if he speaks, he'll cry, and if he cries, he doesn't think he'll stop.

No one notices when Wilde slips into the shed, a recording in hand. It's only when he goes over to the new, apparently magical phonograph that they realize he's there.

Hamid watches as Wilde carefully handles the device and the recording, watches the way deceptively delicate fingers treat one of his most prized possessions as if it were _his_ most prized possession, and he chokes. He meets the bard's gaze, sees the questioning look in his eyes, and nods.

It takes a moment, but soon enough music fills the little shed, and Hamid sucks in a deep breath.

That's her voice. That's _Aziza_. It's as clear as day and sounds as if she's right there with them.

If Hamid cries at the thought they all put into this, if he weeps as Aziza's voice swells and fills the room, no one comments on it. No one mentions the way that he's not let go of Cel's legs or the way that Azu holds his free hand in hers. No one comments on Zolf's squeezing his shoulder or the slightly warped smile that Wilde sends his way. And no one comments on the way they've all come together to make this day a little better for their dear halfling.

"I hope you like it, little buddy," Cel whispers to him. "This way you can listen to her and not worry about ruining the recording."


End file.
